The road to becoming a ‘real boy’ had been a long and winding one for young Pinocchio, who had been taken through whirlwind after whirlwind by all the people he’d met on his way to school – which, of course, he never actually made it to. Not after being taken by Honest John and Gideon to the mean Stromboli’s travelling puppet show to be used as his ‘star talent’ for greedy, vile purposes, then being taken by the pair once again to Pleasure Island and nearly being turned into a donkey like… like Lampwick and the other boys, all due to the evil coachman who ran things… who, for all Pinocchio knew, was still out there.

And that didn’t sit well with him at all, on top of everything else he’d suffered through. But boy, did he feel downright awful about not listening to Jiminy this whole time – the cricket was his conscience, after all, and the Blue Fairy would never make him a real boy with everything he’d been led astray into.

He didn’t want to give up hope, though – he wanted to just get back home to his father Geppetto’s workshop in one piece and hope that, by the next morning, this would all just have been one horrible nightmare he could wake up from. He’d be a good kid, he’d go to school, he’d listen to everything Jiminy told him, he was just… he was so sorry. And tired.

He just wanted to be a real boy so bad that… that he’d lost sight of what that meant.

And that hurt.

But he was going to make it right.

Once he’d made it back to the village on foot (being a wooden boy came with its perks, namely the fact that his feet never got tired) by eveningcome, he and Jiminy, the pair having more than made up after the puppet’s unintentional missteps – the cricket was willing to forgive him, knowing the boy had only been ‘born’ not too long ago and was still learning his right from his wrong – made a beeline to Geppetto’s workshop, which Pinocchio was sure he knew where it was.

Or, at least… he thought he did.

Gee, was the village always this big, or was he just now noticing it? So many houses… with no one around to ask for directions.

He was lost. He was… he was scared.

Pinocchio was scared.

And Jiminy, being the conscientious cricket he was, could sense that in spades.

“Hey, Pinoke – you’re doin’ great, honest.” he encouraged from the boy’s shoulder, nothing but sincerity in his voice. “Just keep walkin’ and you’re already halfway there, one step at a time.”

The wooden boy nodded nervously, looking around with a tentative, anxious gleam in his painted-on eyes. “I-I know… I just… oh, I really oughta just gone to school like Father told me to, then none of this woulda happened.”

“Oh, kiddo…” Jiminy said with an understanding sigh, giving his shoulder a pat with one hand. “You didn’t know. I can’t blame you for not being an expert in somethin’ you only learned just yesterday. The fact is, you’re doing what you can to be better, and that’s a real good thing, y’know?”

That… that lifted his spirits a little. Pinocchio, again, offered a meek nod. “Y-Yeah… you’ve always been right, Jiminy. I just wanna… wanna go home.”

The cricket smiled. “I know you do, Pinoke. And I’ll get ‘ya there. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

As the living puppet trudged along the grassy, moonlit pathways, he looked every which way to try and remember what Father’s house looked like. If someone else were out here this late, then he’d have a better shot at figuring it out.

“Hey, there ‘ya go, lookie there! Why don’tcha ask them for help?” Jiminy called out, pointing up ahead.

Sure enough, sitting on the porch of one of the many homes in the village was one lone villager, who seemed to be contemplating the night sky.

For Pinocchio, that was enough for him to simply light up and urgently shamble over on his wooden limbs.

Be polite. Be respectful.

Be good.

“U-Um, excuse me… sir, o-or… or ma’am, or… whoever you are? Can you please help me?” he asked, a pleading note in his voice as he approached. “I’m trying to find my father’s workshop. He’s a man with a big mustache who makes toys. Do you know where he is?”